Scotland's Loss
by gomababe
Summary: Summary inside. Rated for character death.


A/N: This last fic takes place in January 1700 when the Scottish settlers and troops were finally pushed out of Fort St Andrew and forced to go back to Scotland by Spanish troops. Warning; this is not a happy fic and it does contain character death. I cried while writing this.

Rain pounded against the windows, forcing itself into the cracks between the stonework around them while the wind howled its way around the hills and glens around Scotland's highland home. The nation in question was sat in the kitchen, several empty bottles of whisky surrounding him as he downed yet another glass of the powerful liquor. Several concerned fairies fluttered around him, unsure what to do or say to console their friend. One of the bolder ones flitted towards Scotland's hand as he unsteadily poured himself another glass,

"Alba, I think you've had enough." She told him firmly, trying to push the glass out of his hand. Scotland scowled at the little creature and simply moved the glass further away, some of it sloshing out and onto the table,

"I dinnae 'hink I have." He slurred, "Why dun' ye's a' go'an back tae the ither world and lea' me like a'body else has?" he told the fairy, motioning to the others with the hand holding his glass, causing yet more of the liquid to splash out, this time onto the floor. The fairy shook her head, now starting to get desperate,

"You know we would never do that Alba." She told him, "We want to help you. Please... just put the glass down." She pleaded, nearing tears. Scotland met the fairy's gaze and stared at her for a few seconds before sighing and practically dropping the glass onto the table. He leaned on the table and buried his head into his arms,

"Whit did I dae tae deserve a' this Breda?" he mumbled, "They've a' up an' left, an' the wee ane..." he broke off with a hiccough, or a sob, the fairy couldn't tell which. She sighed and laid a tiny hand on Scotland's arm,

"You did everything you could Alba." She soothed, "But this is not helping, you should go and see him before he does pass, or you're going to regret it." Scotland lifted his head from his arms miserably,

"A...Aye, ye're richt... Ye're a'ways richt." He conceded, slowly pushing himself up out of his seat, swaying a little as he stood. Breda smiled sadly as she watched the Scot gather his bearings once more. When Scotland finally stood still she flitted up towards him, Aoife following behind her. Aoife stroked at Scotland's face tenderly,

"Breda and I will come with you if you like." She said. Scotland closed his eyes, took a deep breath and nodded,

"Aye, please. D...the wee ane a'ways did like you twa best." The two fairies looked at each other as Scotland half staggered to the stairs, but quickly followed after their charge as he started to climb them.

...

Darien's room was dark and quiet, save for the wheezy breathing of the little colony as he barely clung to life. Scotland stopped in the doorway, his own breath hitching as he stared into the gloom. One part of him desperately wanted to bolt back down to the kitchen and resume drinking to forget this was even happening, but he stubbornly quashed the impulse, the fae would likely just drag him back up here anyway. As he hovered in the doorway, Breda flitted into the room towards the curtains,

"We should let some light in here." She said as she tugged one of the curtains open. Aoife flitted into the room after her and tugged on the other one. Light filtered into the room, allowing Scotland to see it properly. The Celtic nation swallowed thickly as his eyes swept over to his colony's bed, but he gathered himself, took a deep breath and went straight to the chair next to it. The two fairies flitted over to the colony, hovering over his head as they watched the situation unfold in front of them. Scotland forced himself to look at the tiny colony, sharply reminding himself that this was going to be the last time he could see him and that he should remember the child because he was probably going to be the only one that would. The red-haired nation gingerly swept some of Darien's hair out of his face, eyes already welling up. Darien stirred slightly at the contact and Scotland bit back a choked sob as the colony's eyes slowly fluttered open,

"B... big brother...S... Scotland?" he asked; his voice weak and wheezy sounding. Scotland nodded and forced a small smile,

"A...Aye laddie, it's just me." Scotland assured the little colony. "How are ye faring?" he asked. Darien returned the smile weakly,

"A b... bit better." He replied, "Nothing h...hu...hurts anymore." He managed to get out. Scotland blinked back the tears that were threatening to slip out. There wasn't any need for Darien to see him crying,

"Th... that's a lot better." He agreed, "We'll hae ye up an' aboot again in no time, eh?" Darien laughed breathily before breaking off into a coughing fit. Scotland frowned and picked the colony up, rubbing his back until the coughing stopped, "That better?" he asked. Darien nodded, leaning against Scotland tiredly,

"Aye." He murmured softly. At this point the fairies flitted down to Darien's eye level and flew around him. The colony grinned at them,

"Aiofe... Breda..." he breathed, "Did you come to play?" he asked. Aoife shook her head,

"We just wanted to see you." She replied, while Breda stroked at his head gently,

"You're still too sick to play right now, but we can play all you like when you feel better." She told him. Scotland's breath hitched a little at the fairy's statement, but Darien didn't seem to notice as he nodded again,

"S... sounds like... fun." He said, "W... we can go to the orchard." He suggested. Breda giggled, her laughing sounding like the tinkling of a tiny bell,

"If Scotland says it's ok." She told him. Darien tilted his head to look at Scotland,

"C... can we... go to the... orchard when I... I'm better?" he asked innocently. Scotland smiled,

"Course ye can go when ye're better." He replied, "An' in the summer we can go apple pickin' an' ye can eat as many as ye like." Darien grinned happily,

Th... that would... be really good." He murmured, his eyes drooping. He tried to fight it to ask Scotland something else but the older nation hushed him,

"It's a'right lad, dinnae fight it. Ye need yer rest." Darien nodded tiredly as he closed his eyes,

"C... can ye sing... th...that...song... fer... me?" he asked faintly. Scotland smiled softly,

"Aye laddie, o' course." He replied, taking a deep breath as he started to sing softly,

"_I left my baby lying here,  
>Lying here, lying here<br>I left my baby lying here  
>To go and gather blaeberries. <em>

_I found the wee brown otter's track  
>Otter's track, otter's track<br>I found the wee brown otter's track  
>But ne'er a trace o' my baby, O. <em>

_I found the track of the swan on the lake  
>Swan on the lake, swan on the lake<br>I found the track of the swan on the lake  
>But not the track of baby, O. <em>

_I found the trail of the mountain mist  
>Mountain mist, mountain mist<br>I found the trail of the mountain mist  
>But ne'er a trace of baby, O.<em>

_Hovan, Hovan Gorry og O,  
>Gorry og, O, Gorry og O<br>Hovan, Hovan Gorry og O  
>I've lost my darling baby, O."<em>

Scotland's voice finally cracked towards the end of the song, the tears already spilling from his eyes as he hugged Darien close to him and kissed the top of his head. Aiofe flew to Scotland's shoulder and hugged him as tightly as she could manage while Breda sat on Darien's hand, gripping at his sleeve and sobbing into that instead. And as the final Scot left Fort St Andrew under the strict gaze of the Spanish troops that had captured it, Darien breathed his tiny last, surrounded by the love of the only family he had.

...

_Near Christmas 2010_

Scotland rummaged around in some of the older boxes he had stuffed up in the attic,

"I ken I left it in here somewhaur." He muttered; sneezing as some of the dust flew up his nose. Scotland shook his head and continued the search. Suddenly he came across a small box containing something with a protective charm in it. Scotland frowned as he picked the box up and opened it, his expression softening as he saw the little Celtic cross nestled safely inside. It had been over 230 years since he had last seen this particular item and, while it was slightly tarnished, it still looked like it had been made yesterday. The memories of a tiny little boy with a big smile and somehow an even bigger heart came flooding back to the Scottish man, causing his heart to clench painfully. Scotland sighed heavily as he felt the protective charm on the cross,

"Well... ye're nae guid tae anyone sitting up here." He muttered to himself, "An' even though the wee laddie ye were meant fer cannae hae ye, there is one that can." Scotland allowed himself a faint smile as he thought about the quiet, almost reclusive nation in question, "An' he's as much ma son as Darien ever wis." Deciding what he had to do now, Scotland nodded and got up, taking the box down to the pile of Christmas presents he had put aside for all of the countries he actually liked enough to buy anything for, humming an old Scottish song as he clicked the light in the attic out.


End file.
